


Destiny or Circumstance

by ifishouldvanish



Series: How Do You Sleep? 'Verse [2]
Category: California Solo (2012), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Anyelle, Anyem, F/M, Rumbelle - Freeform, groupie!Lacey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 08:29:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18406895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish/pseuds/ifishouldvanish
Summary: Lacey doesn't remember much of what happened last night, nor does she recognize the new ring on her finger. But when she realizes whose bed she's in, she really can't bring herself to mind.A little prequel of sorts for my Big Bang fic,How Do You Sleep?





	Destiny or Circumstance

**Author's Note:**

> These two are a trainwreck and a half but I love them, okay???

Lacey arched her back, stretching and blinking her eyes open as she woke. Sunlight managed to peek through the slats of the drawn blinds, which hung from an unfamiliar window.

She furrowed her brows at it.

_Where was she?_

Rubbing a hand over her face, she lifted her head from the pillow– bringing on her pounding punishment from all the fun she'd clearly had last night.

She grumbled and rolled over, finding her bed companion curled up into a ball with his back to her. He had a messy mop of shoulder-length brown hair, soft and shiny, and wore a heavy silver chain bracelet on his–

Lacey threw a hand over her mouth.

Carefully, she crept closer for a better look.

Was it _him?_ Still?

Last night hadn't exactly been her first rodeo, but this would definitely be the first time she wasn't kicked out right after, be it by an overwrought manager or the talent themselves.

Come to think of it, they weren't even in the hotel room anymore. This was… someone's _house._ Apartment?

Lacey leaned over the man beside her, careful not to wake him. He shifted a little and rolled towards her, hair falling out of his face, and oh yeah. It was _definitely_ him.

She pressed her thighs together, noting the telltale ache between them, and bit down in her lip.

He made a small grunting noise that told her he was beginning to wake up, and her eyes darted around the room, not sure what to do. Sneaking out of bed was her standard morning after protocol, but being in bed with Lachlan MacAldonich was _far_ from standard.

No, no– Lacey French wanted to stay in _this_ bed as long as possible.

Which settled it, then.

She gently laid her hand on his bare chest, and slowly slid it down toward his hips, nudging the sheets out of the way so she could palm his cock.

Lachlan drew a deep breath through his nose, and exhaled slowly. His mouth fell open as she began to work him, and his eyes soon opened too, their gaze fixed blankly on the ceiling.

“Fuck…” he whispered.

“Good morning,” she grinned, straddling back over him.

“Aye,” he scoffed. “Fucking _beautiful.”_ He stared at her for a moment, his features scrunching in mild confusion– but soon there was recognition in his brown eyes, and he smiled. “You…” he pointed a finger lazily, “I remember you…”

“Always nice to make an impression,” she said.

“...Lindsey?” he guessed.

“Nuh-uh,” she smiled, shaking her head and beginning to grind her hips into him.

“Fuck,” he chuckled, throwing his head back. “Ah… fuckin’... Australian broad…?”

 _“Lacey,”_ she said, taking mercy on him.

“Lacey,” he repeated with a nod. “I knew that... I knew that. That's… a _much_ better name, actually. I like that.” His eyes wandered over her body appreciatively for a moment, then narrowed somewhere downwards.

Lacey frowned. “What?”

Lachlan scoffed. “Nothing,” he shrugged. “Just ah… hope your husband's not the jealous type.”

She furrowed her brows. _“What?”_

“Your… husband?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I don't–”

She finally noticed it then. A ring on her finger, with a rock that had to have cost more than she was worth.

“Goes to show where I had _my_ eyes last night,” Lachlan joked. “Usually stay away from the married ones…”

Lacey's face flashed hot. “I wasn't wearing this last night,” she said.

“Oh. Well that explains it,” he mumbled, easily accepting the explanation at its surface.

 _“No,”_ she said. “You don't understand. _I'm not married._ I've never seen this thing before in my life.”

“Oh.”

“Fuck.” Lacey rasped. “Did I– did _we?”_

Lachlan's eyes bulged as he caught on. He sat up quickly and grabbed her hand so he could take a better look. “...Jesus fuck.”

Lacey pulled away, climbing off of him and looking around for her purse, or more specifically, her phone. She found it on the floor at her side of the bed, and began digging through her texts, choosing to ignore the handful of missed calls from Ruby.

But there it was, at the end of a thread of barely coherent texts– a photo she'd sent at 2:37AM of herself and Lachlan, cheeks flushed from alcohol, posing beside an overtanned man in a cheap suit with too-white teeth– the words _Just Married_ scrawled across the backdrop behind them.

“Holy shit.” Lacey whispered.

“What?”

She climbed across the bed back over to Lachlan, and thrust the screen in his face. “Do you remember _this?”_

Lachlan stared and blinked owlishly at it, but said nothing.

“You know what?” Lacey said, pulling her phone away and gracelessly hopping out of bed on one leg, “it's probably just... One of those fake ones, you know? Where they just go through the motions and take pictures, but it's not like… Actually legally binding or whatever?” she continued, her voice creeping higher in pitch.

She swiped her clothes off the floor and hurriedly began to dress.

“I mean, seriously– What kind of place would _actually_ marry two drunk-ass motherfuckers who just waltzed in at two in the morning, asking to get married right then and there?” she went on, mouth dry and heart racing. “...Right?”

Lachlan wet his lips, nodding slowly. “Aye, you're probably right, that.”

“Too drunk to marry, but not _so_ drunk they wouldn't take our money,” she muttered, twisting ring around her finger and beginning to pace.

It crossed her mind to take the thing off, but she didn't.

“Look,” Lachlan said, and Lacey spun around, finding him sat up in bed, rubbing his hands over his face. “If we got married– for real, like– we should have a… _you know._ A…”

“Certificate!” she finished, already starting to rummage through the room.

She could hear Lachlan clumsily dragging himself out of bed and glanced over her shoulder,  watching as he reached for a bottle on his nightstand. He quickly discarded it when he found it was empty.

“I need a fucking drink, if I'm to deal with this shite,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face and shuffling out of the room.

“Yeah. So do I,” Lacey muttered under her breath.

Of all the stupid shit she'd done in her life, this had to take the cake, didn't it?

Sure, she may have indulged in a silly fantasy or two when she was younger. That one day she'd meet one of her idols and they'd think the sun shone out of her ass as much she thought it did theirs. That they'd _notice_ her and see something special and worth their while.

But those fantasies usually involved long conversions during which they'd tell her she was interesting and smart and different from everyone else they'd ever met. Not… whatever this mess was.

She was feverishly searching the drawers of his dresser, and that was ridiculous. Who came home drunk and tucked a legal document in with their fucking _socks?_

She thrust the drawer shut and glanced around the room again. Because if this thing existed, she had to find it. She _would_ find it.

“Ah… _Lacey French?”_

She stopped her pacing and looked up at the doorway, where Lachlan was standing.

“This looks pretty fuckin’ legitimate to me,” he said, holding up a piece of paper.

Lacey squinted at it from across the room, then rushed over for a closer look. 

 _State of California_  
_Certification of Vital Record_  
_County of Los Angeles  
_ _License and Certificate of Marriage_

Dozens of tiny boxes followed, and in one of them was definitely his name, and in another was definitely her name. The date had been stamped at the bottom along with some other numbers and signatures.

She folded her arms over her chest. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

He tossed a shopping bag bearing the chapel's name on the bed, and a handful of brochures and other papers slid out. Without a word, they both began to dig through it all.

 

_Congratulations on your LEGAL marriage!_

_Get a great deal on your destination honeymoon!_

_Thank you for choosing Little Chapel LA!_

_Top 10 Romantic Spots in Los Angeles_

_Save on California hotels!_

_Leave us a review on Yelp!_

_Get Disneyland discount tickets!_

 

“The fuck…” she whispered, continuing to rummage through the countless pamphlets, postcards, and coupons.

“Oh. Here's a good one,” Lachlan said.

Lacey scowled and looked up, finding him holding up a coupon for twenty percent off at The Pleasure Chest.

She was ready to smack him before registering the dryness in his tone, and the silly look on his face.

She smiled instead, and laughed– the tight, anxious coil in her belly finally releasing.

_This would all be fine._

_She'd be laughing herself sick about it one day._

_Have another great story to tell at parties._

“I mean, if _you_ don't want it…” he trailed off.

“Wait–” she giggled and plucked it from his hand. “Maybe I wanna buy some nipple clamps for you,” she snorted. “Or a big strap on.”

He reeled back, his eyes wide with horror.

“...I can make jokes too,” she said, and tossed the coupon back on the bed.

 _“Right,”_ he nodded, relaxing a little. “Right…”

Lacey's eyes landed on a folder with the words _Your Wedding Photos_ printed on it in a scripty font. She picked it up and held it out to him. “How much do you think they charged us for _these?”_

Smiling, Lachlan snapped his finger and picked up a brochure with the chapel's pricing information on it.

“Deluxe photo package? ... _One hundred twenty-five dollars.”_ he read, and tossed it back on the bed.

Lacey snorted and opened the folder, a handful of wallet size prints falling out and scattering across the bed and floor.

They'd covered all the classic poses, it seemed.

The awkwardly standing next to each other while smiling stiffly at the camera pose– not at all helped by the fact that the suit jacket they'd thrown on Lachlan was at least two sizes too big for him.

The kissing pose, which might have looked sweet if their tongues weren't already down each other's throats and he wasn't grabbing her ass.

And the laughing pose– herself doubled over with laughter while Lachlan stood behind, smiling with his arms around her waist as if to keep her from falling.

On second thought, her drunk ass probably _was_ falling.

“Aw…,” Lacey said at last, flipping the folder around to show him an 8x10. “They're almost nice.”

A smile crept across his face, and he took the folder from her. “...Aye. Look at that.”

A long strip of paper caught Lacey's eyes, and she plucked it off the bed. “Suit rental…” she read off the receipt, “deluxe ceremony package… deluxe photo package… walk-in surcharge… officiant fee… license fee… LA county license fee… gratuit– _Jesus Christ.”_

“What?”

Lacey checked the line item again, making sure she'd read it right.

She had.

“Dude, you tipped the officiant three hundred dollars,” she snorted.

“No, I didn't,” he said, rejecting the mere possibility.

Lacey squinted at the small print. “Well, _I'm_ sure as hell not… _Amex_ ending in… 98341,” she read aloud.

_“What?”_

“But look on the bright side: they gave you a 10% discount for being a California resident. See?” she pointed, “My ring _would_ have cost you–”

Lachlan snatched it from her hands. “The fuck…” He stopped reading and looked at her finger, pointing. “You're taking that off and it's going back.”

“What? S’no big deal!” Lacey laughed. “You just call the credit card company and say it was a fraudulent charge. I do it _all the time_ when I rack up an insane tab. Besides– receipt says all sales are final, and I dunno… I kinda like it!” She said, admiring it again. “Makes me feel classy.”

He shot her a defeated look.

“Check it out–” Lacey said, tossing her hair over her shoulders and righting her posture. With an exaggerated gasp, she clutched her hand to her chest, as though she'd just suffered some horrible offence. “Wait 'til my _husband_ hears about _this!”_

His features sank into a pained expression, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fucking shite, don't tell me I married a bloody _wannabe_ _actress…”_

 _“What?!”_ Lacey squeaked, actually offended this time. _“No!”_

A buzzing sound came from somewhere in the room, and their eyes darted to his pair of jeans on the floor.

Lachlan bent down and pulled his phone from one of the pockets. “...s’my manager,” he explained brusquely, taking the call and tucking the device against his shoulder. _“Wendel!”_ he greeted with a cheerfulness the belied their situation. “How's–”

An angry voice cut him off, and he fell silent.

“…No. No, I'm home actually,” he said quietly. After another beat he chuckled, and held the phone to his ear. “Aye, well, I met this… lovely brunette and we decided to ah… take the party back home, if you know what I mean. Look– I'm sorry about skipping out on…” he trailed off, swallowing as the angry voice shouted over him. “No. …No, of course I understand. Listen, I've actually got a bit of a situation, if I'm–” he got interrupted again, and began rubbing the back of his neck. “No no no no!” he laughed. “No, it’s nothing like that! Just ah… Look. C-can I call you back? Wendel? I'll be just a minute, I swear. …Aye. Thanks.”

Lachlan hung up the phone, sighing and tossing it on the bed.

“Well. _He's_ no’ happy,” he mumbled, giving Lacey an apologetic smile.

“Sounds like a prick,” she said.

He scoffed and put his hands on his hips, looking at the mess of papers on the bed with a frown. Lacey watched warily for him to say or do something.

At last, he looked to her and clapped his hands together. “Alright,” he sighed. “Look, I'm… I'm really sorry about all this. You came out to have a good time last night and this– I shouldn't have…” he took a took deep breath. Sighed again. “Why don't you just… make yourself comfortable?” he told her. “Shower, help yourself to the kitchen… And I'll ah… make some phone calls and get us all sorted out, aye?”

Lacey nodded slowly, surprised by how apologetic he was being about the whole thing, how ready he was to accept full responsibility for it. “...Yeah. Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

 

****

 

Lachlan was still on the phone when Lacey got out of the shower. Still on the phone after she'd finished getting dressed again, and still on the phone after she'd foraged through his kitchen's very humble offerings.

If she didn't know any better she'd have mistaken it for a clean and tidy kitchen. But his was a _bachelor's_ kitchen– free of any mess because it was never actually used. There was no art to it, no hominess, no character– save for an array of liquor bottles arranged like a shrine on the far counter.

In the den though, things were far more interesting. His guitars were out, displayed on their stands– and Lacey bit down on her lip, resisting the urge to _touch._ There was an acoustic, and a Les Paul she recognized from concert footage and music videos.

_Oh, what was the harm?_

It wasn't as though she'd never handled a guitar before.

She picked it up. Not to play, but to check the back.

There the finish was worn through– a mass of scratches from buttons, rivets, and belt buckles that resembled a big tumbleweed, marring the otherwise smooth, glossy clear coat.

 _This guitar had history,_ she thought with a smile, before setting it back down and moving onto his record collection.

The shelves spanned an entire wall, and were so tightly packed as to be nearly impossible to browse. She could read titles and artists names off the spines of some of them, but she was determined to see the rest, and began plucking sleeves out one at a time.

Some of her favorites were in there. Some of her not-so-favorites. Things she'd never heard of. Things that surprised her. Things that didn't surprise her at all. Pressings from English bands, which ranged from mildly elusive to virtually nonexistent in the States: Happy Mondays, Inspiral Carpets, the Charlatans’ early stuff before they got picked up by Universal.

Several minutes later, she heard Lachlan's footsteps coming from the bedroom.

“You have a _killer_ collection,” Lacey hollered over her shoulder. She slid another record sleeve out from the shelf and admired the artwork for a moment before pushing it back in.

“Aye, thanks,” he said, coming over.

She slid another one out, quickly recognizing the artwork. “Alice Cooper Band…” she clicked her tongue. “Nice.”

He chuckled, “It's some fuckin’... _good music_.”

She moved onto the next, and the next, and he must have had the whole discography. She paused at the last of them, and looked over her shoulder at him disapprovingly. _“Muscle of Love?”_

He shrugged. “Bit of a completionist.”

Lacey narrowed her eyes at him. _“Alright…”_ she accepted slowly, and returned to her browsing.

“Look, I ah… I just got off the phone with the chapel.”

“Yeah?”

“If we want to ah… you know. We've got tae actually file for divorce. Like, properly? Form… FL… one hundred, they said?”

Lacey stopped thumbing through the vinyl, but found herself smiling.

_She was married to Lachlan MacAldonich._

_Lachlan MacAldonich was her husband._

_The same Lachlan MacAldonich whose picture used to be taped inside her locker._

“Since we were just… Absolutely fucking plastered, we should be able to just do an annulment, but ah… we'll need to have some kind of proof to show a judge?”

Lacey's eyes drifted upwards. She was sure she'd have a receipt for enough shots to tranquilize a _horse_ somewhere in her purse, but she thought better of digging for it right now.

“That all sounds like a pain in the ass,” she said and adjusted her purse strap– aiming for nonchalance as she continued to browse his collection.

“Right?”

“I mean… I'm in no hurry,” she shrugged and spun around again, leaning against the shelves. “We can just like… Exchange numbers and get it sorted whenever. Next weekend, next month… _next time one of us is trying to get hitched,”_ she joked.

“Aye. Same here,” he smiled, and Lacey felt her stomach do a ridiculous flip.

She looked down at the floor, rubbing her thumb over the band of the ring still on her finger.

“Ah… had no luck with the credit card company either,” he admitted with a chuckle. “So…”

She nodded and gripped the ring, giving it one last look before pulling it off and handing it to him. “Yeah, I get it. Was worth a shot though, right?” she smiled.

 _“Was,_ yeah,” he said– and as he dodged her gaze, Lacey could've sworn he was blushing. “Chapel said they won't take it back, so… probably bring it to the pawn shop. See what I can get for it.”

“Makes sense.”

He put it in his pocket and stared back at her. Lacey waited for him to add something, but he never did.

She reached into her purse for her phone. “Should I send you a text? Or… How do you wanna–”

He blinked and shook his head. “Oh! Right, right. Yeah. Sorry, I just…”

Lacey smiled. “If I didn't know any better, I'd think talking to girls made you nervous.”

He scoffed, and the color in his cheeks deepened. “Just ah… used to having a little more drink in me, is all,” he said, taking out his phone and opening up his contacts. “A _lot_ more drink,” he confessed, and handed it to her.

“Well, you have _nothing_ to worry about,” Lacey said as she typed her information in. “Trust me.”

Lachlan huffed a little laugh through his nose. “Certainly appreciate that,” he said, hiking his brows in acknowledgement. “But no. Just I ah… get a little anxious? From time to time?” he trailed off and shook his head, folding his hands over his chest and putting on a smile. “It's fine, though, ye know?” he shrugged, “I-it's nothing.”

Lacey gave him a long, skeptical look. “There's like, _pills_ for that, you know. Roommate swears by 'em.”

Lachlan's eyes widened. _“...Nah,”_ he decided, scowling and shaking his head. “Nah, did enough pills in the nineties, I'm afraid.”

She smiled. “Yeah, I bet.”

“Uppers, downers…” he bobbed from side to side, _“...all arounders,”_ he joked, winking and making a funny face.

A little giggle escaped her, and Lacey quickly glanced away, scolding herself for it– for acting like some kind of giddy schoolgirl around him. She needed to stay cool.

Squashing her smile away, she smacked her lips and looked back to him. “Crazy times, huh?”

“Aye,” he nodded, “no doubt.”

“We um… must have had a good time last night, though.”

“Looks like it.”

Lacey licked her lips. “Yeah. It does.”

A crooked smile spread across his face, and he tilted his head at her. “Do you…” he trailed off and closed his eyes in thought. “C-can I pour you a drink?” he asked at last, pointing a thumb over his shoulder and toward the kitchen.

Her cheeks grew warm, and she checked the clock on the wall.

She still had some time.

“...I'd like that.”

His smile widened. “Perfect.”

Lacey followed him into the kitchen, leaning against the island while he browsed the collection of bottles on the counter.

 _“Whisky girl,”_ he mumbled to himself, remembering at least that much from the night before. “Or would you prefer something else–”

“Oh, no. Whisky’s just fine. My tolerance for anything else is a little–”

“Oh, I hear you,” Lachlan chuckled. “Tequila and I do _not_ get along, that's for certain.” His hand hovered over the bottles hesitantly. “...Jack? Crown?” he asked.

Lacey shrugged. “Surprise me.”

“Tell you what, Lacey–” he wagged his finger, “For _you?_ I'll pour my best,” he said, grabbing a bottle of _Johnnie Walker Blue._

She fought back a smile. “You… _really_ don't have to.”

“Eh,” he waved her off and opened up one of the cabinets for two glasses. “I mean, we're just married, right? Ought to celebrate.”

Lacey shifted on her feet, drawing closer to him. “You know... you're absolutely right.”

He finished pouring and handed her her drink.

“Fuckin'... _cheers,”_ he said– clinking their glasses and knocking his back without so much as a pause to appreciate the taste of the almost two hundred dollar bottle.

Lacey sipped her own slowly.

“S'good, in’it?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she swallowed, nodded. “Yeah, it is. Thanks.”

“It's a batshit crazy situation, ye know?” he said. “Gettin’ fuckin’ married. But ah… you gotta… gotta see the _humor,_ in a situation like this, I think.”

“Yeah,” she agreed over the rim of her glass. “Could've been a lot worse.”

He snapped a finger at her. _“Exactly._ And it's far from the worst thing I've ah…” he trailed off and shrugged. “You know.”

She didn't. But she could imagine.

“So um... last night was the last stop?” Lacey asked. “Of the tour?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Back in _sweet home,_ LA.”

“You know, I've always kinda wondered,” she said, “what bands do like… in the time between the end of a tour, and working on the next–”

“Oh, fuck all,” he laughed. “Absolutely _fuck_ all.”

“I guess it's the only time you have to really _relax_ and like, spend time with family, huh? Or do you just like, get a day job for a while?”

“I mean… it _depends,”_ he said. “What kinda contract you're on and all that. How much the label wants you to cavort about in the press circus…how many records they want to squeeze outta you in so many years…”

“Gotcha.”

“God,” he carded a hand through his hair and sighed. “We were on Wen Gray… they wanted six records over ten years.”

Lacey stopped sipping her drink and lurched forward. “Shit.”

“Aye, it's a lot, when you include the…”

“Touring and shit, yeah.”

Lachlan stared off blankly for a moment. “Well,” he shrugged, “they got two records. And a half.”

“How does that um…” she whirled her glass about, “how does that work? When uh, one of the members…”

“Depends if the label thinks things are ‘ _salvageable_ ,’ was the word they used. If they thought we could replace...”

“Oh, _fuck_ no,” Lacey shook her head.

“Yeah. Ye know, it's one thing to lose a guitar or a bass player, but–”

“But still. It's never the same.”

Lachlan hesitated for a moment, then quickly poured himself another shot. Swilled it down and took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he agreed– nodding, tossing his hair out of his face, and squaring his shoulders. “But also like… compilations and all that count towards the contract too?”

“Yeah!” Lacey pointed a finger, “yeah, I read that somewhere. Guys running out their contracts that way. _Greatest Hits_ and _Deluxe Editions_ and shit.”

“Aye. _Nowadays_ they've got clauses about that sort of thing,” he chuckled. “But anyway, ah, the label decided to cut their losses with us. I guess. After…”

“Yeah.”

“People don't realize that, I don't think,” he said. “Just assume we're all… just like these kids in a candy store, with the drugs and shite, parties twenty-four seven... But there's– there's a lot of pressure too, you know? To produce–”

“Yeah, I bet.”

“So you got these guys just like, _living_ in the studio, you know? Having little baggies of coke dropped off because they think, _‘there's no way I can finish this album on time otherwise’?”_

A sudden lump formed in Lacey's throat. He was talking about Jed, she knew. Found dead in the recording studio from an overdose.

She swallowed it down hard.

“You have a daughter though, right?” she asked to change the subject. “You think you'll get to spend time with her? Now that you're–”

“Ah… _no,_ ” he stilled. “No, I'm not… in her life. Really.”

Lacey ducked her head and clenched her eyes shut. “Shit, I'm sorry, that's personal. It's none of my–”

“You’re fine.” he dismissed. “But yeah. Haven't seen her since…”

She nodded slowly in understanding, not sure what else to say.

Lachlan rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I um…” he closed his eyes for a moment, “I was still using? At the time?”

“Yeah. I mean of _course_ you were,” Lacey said. “After… that.”

“So, we decided it was best if I was just out of the picture,” he explained, looking at the floor. “But Catherine's– _my ex–_ she's a smart woman. Real strong and all that. So l mean... I know she's in good hands. It's just… i-it's complicated,” he finished, and took another swig of whisky– this time straight from the bottle.

“Yeah, I get it,” Lacey said, giving him a rueful smile. “My family's kinda fucked up, too. Haven't seen or spoken to my dad since I moved out here.”

His wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked back up, lips parted. “Oh.”

“I mean, that was kinda the whole point, honestly,” Lacey admitted with nervous chuckle. “Was to get away from him.”

Lachlan's eyes fixed steadily into her own, the prolonged contact beginning to feel uncomfortable before he finally cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said softly, blinking his focus away. “Really.”

“Yeah,” Lacey frowned and took a swig of her drink, not really tasting it either this time. “Me too.”

He fumbled with the cap on the whisky bottle for a moment before taking a step back, leaning against the counter and tucking his hands into his pockets.

Lacey counted to five, and picked her glass back up for another sip.

“You know,” he coughed, “part of it was that… we weren't supposed to do a US tour so soon.”

She froze and tilted her head at him.

“In our contract, I mean,” he said. “But _Bank Street_ was doing so well over here, the promoter sent us over. So… a six month Euro tour became… a year and a half world tour.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah. So we were behind on _Glass Houses_ , toured again for that, and then we were behind on our third.”

“That sucks,” Lacey said, finally taking her sip. “You'd think they'd like, give you some leeway when–”

“Oh, no,” he shook his head. “They didn't give a shite.”

She sucked her teeth. “...Bastards.”

They moved onto safer topics after that.

Their favorite albums, their favorite bands–  ribbing each other on their taste for long after Lacey had finished her drink. By the time they were discussing who was worth seeing live and who was better on the record, the space between them had dwindled to a few mere inches– and Lacey's “don't giggle like a schoolgirl at every other word out of his mouth,” ship had long since sailed.

She was recovering from one such bout of giggles when Lachlan's gaze slipped downwards– but it wasn't the floor he was looking at.

“I'll be honest,” he said, his voice suddenly deeper than before, the timbre so different when he was so close. “You have… the _sexiest_ fucking legs, and I would _really_ like to take you back to bed right now.”

Lacey sank her teeth into her bottom lip and pressed her thighs together. A hesitant chuckle escaped her as she glanced at the clock on the stove.

“Um… As much as I'd love to… I um, I should probably head home so I can get ready for work, actually.”

Lachlan's expression fell. “Right, right…,” he nodded, pulling away.

“Normally, I'd just um... call in?” she said. “One of my coworkers is this Armenian guy with like, five kids, so he's... kinda _my guy_ when I need someone to cover for me,” Lacey confessed with a little snort. “But uh, I kinda already called in twice this week?” she said, shrinking back guiltily.

Lachlan pulled a funny face at that. “Sounds like you’ve had one hell of a week,” he chuckled, folding his arms over his chest.

“Yeah,” she laughed. “You um– you have my number, though?” she reminded him. “We could… get together again. Sometime.”

“Yeah. Yeah, right.”

“I usually work mid shift, so… I'm free most nights. Like, _late_ nights. If you wanted to–”

“Aye. Definitely,” he nodded. “Definitely wouldn't mind... doing that.”

“Nothing like, _serious_ or anything,” she assured him. “Just, you know. ...Fun?”

“Yeah. Fun, of course” he nodded again. Clasped and rubbed his hands together. “I mean, it really can't get any more serious than married, can it?” he joked.

“Yeah, _right?”_ she snorted and rolled her eyes.

Lachlan leaned over the island on his elbows again, looking up at her with what Lacey could only describe as puppy dog eyes.

“W-w-where did you say you worked?” he asked, tilting his head and drawing closer.

“I _didn't,”_ she answered dryly.

He cracked a smile, and that was _definitely_ a blush on his face.

Lachlan MacAldonich was blushing at her.

She tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. “I um… I just cashier at the pharmacy off 10 and Santa Fe.”

“Oh, yeah,” he nodded. “I think I know it. Across from the ah…” he snapped his fingers, trying to remember.

“The strip club with the–”

“Aye,” he chuckled, “that's the one.”

Lacey narrowed her eyes at him, feeling playful. “Do you... _frequent_ the–?”

“No,” he shook his head and laughed. “No. I mean– I've _been._ But it's not like–”

“I'm teasing,” she smiled. “But yeah. I should go.”

“No. Sorry, yeah. You've got… work,” he said, pulling away again and gesturing limply toward the front door.

“Rain check?” she asked, slowly brushing her hair off her neck as she strung her purse over her shoulder.

It had the intended effect, and his eyes wandered over her neck. “You know– why don't I… show you out?”

Lacey bit back a smile and shrugged. “Okay.”

“We can take the walk of shame together, eh?” he said, resting his hand on the small of her back.

They made it halfway to the door before Lacey stopped and snorted, earning her a curious look.

“I don't remember how I even got here,” she realized, laughing. “Or where I am.”

It dawned on him too, then, and he chuckled. “Neither do I,” he told her. “But we're in Highland Park.”

“Oh, okay,” she giggled, falling back in step with him. “Yeah, I'm East LA.”

“Well, let's see if I need to call ye a cab,” he said, taking his hand off her back so he could open the door.

They stared blankly at the old, electric blue Camaro parked haphazardly in the driveway.

“That you?” he finally asked.

Lacey snorted. “Yeah, that's me, alright.”

He scoffed and shook his head.

“I don't remember driving _at all,”_ she laughed, stumbling against him and burying her face in his shoulder.

“Hey, I've been there,” he admitted. “Looks like we made it over in one piece, though,” he pat her back. “S’all that matters, right?”

Lacey peeked up at him, letting herself drink in his brown eyes for a moment. An image– fleeting memory– from the night before came to mind, but it just as quickly disappeared. “I… I'm trying to think,” she said, finally tearing away from him and starting down the porch steps. “The last thing I remember… after– _oh._ ” she perked up as it came back to her, bouncing on her toes and turning back around to face him. “I remember!”

He raised his brows. _“Do_ you?”

Lacey flapped a hand in the air, struggling. “I remember… we had sex…”

He nodded slowly, stifling a laugh. “Aye, we sure did.”

 _“Again,_ I mean,” she giggled. “At the hotel. And um… you said I was a… daft bird? The _most_ daft bird,” she corrected herself, continuing toward the car. “And I said you were probably into it? Because you needed the crazy to down out everything else?”

They reached the car, and she spun around again. Lachlan narrowed his eyes and tilted his head at her.

“You asked if I was speaking from experience,” she recalled, “and I remember saying… yeah. Because if I– I _know_ that if I ever slow down…”

“...something'll catch up and bite ye in the arse,” he finished.

Lacey smiled. “...Yeah.”

He rubbed a hand over his chin. “Aye. I do remember that now, actually.”

“You know what?” she swat her hand through the air, “I bet the rest of it all will come back to me in a few hours.” She rested her hand on the door handle and paused to look up at him, squinting at the sunlight. “You know. Just a brown out.”

He blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Brown out?” she said again. “Like a blackout, but… you just need something to jog your memory a little bit first?”

“Ah. Well, then perhaps we might be able to piece our night together yet,” he smirked.

“Yeah!” she laughed. “I mean, it must have been a good one, right?”

“Aye. For sure, for sure,” he agreed, checking her out again.

“Anyway,” she shook her head, “yeah. I should… I should get going,” she mumbled, digging her keys out of her bag and pointing them at the door.

“Right,” he nodded. “Well, ah… it was… _lovely_ to meet you. Lacey.”

She stared down at the hand he was offering.

“Yeah,” she smiled, accepting it. “Same here.”

“I'll… be in touch, I guess. About the whole… _marriage_ thing–”

“Yeah,” she laughed, reluctantly letting go of his hand so she could unlock the door.

She climbed into the driver's seat then, and began turning the window crank– lowering it all the way before pulling the door shut.

“Oh–” Lachlan leaned in, folding his arms over the door and poking his head inside. “You know how to get to 110 from here?”

“Um…” Lacey gripped the wheel and pushed against it. “No, actually,” she admitted, slouching. “No idea.”

He wet his lips and smiled. “Well, it's real easy: Just pull out that way,” he pointed, “make a left onto York, and it'll be just about a mile up the road.”

Lacey's eyes drifted upwards as she repeated his directions back in her head, committing them to memory. “...okay. Cool, thanks.”

“I'll… see you around then,” he shrugged, giving the door a finishing pat and pushing away from the car.

“Yeah. Um…” she closed her eyes, hesitating between lingering a moment longer, and starting the car. “Bye– I guess,” she decided with a little wave.

He took a step away from the car, mirroring her awkward wave. “Ah… Drive safe?”

“Yeah. Will do,” Lacey smiled before starting the engine. It roared as she gave it a few pumps of gas, and Lachlan shouted something she couldn't hear.

“What?” she shouted, poking her head out the window.

 _“Beautiful car,”_ he hollered back.

“Oh!” she grinned. “Thanks!”

He gave her one last smile, one last nod, and took a few more steps back. As she backed out of the driveway and pulled down the road, Lachlan was still on the porch, waving her off.

And later, as she sat in traffic on 110, Lacey was still smiling.


End file.
